Page 2 of Wild Heart
My younger self would be laughing his ass off if he could see me now. Discussing the taste notes and viscosity of the beer I’mdrinking. My younger self was out to get drunk, and that was it. Taste didn’t even come into it.
Thank fuck I grew up.
Travis joins us, and him and Quentin start discussing their entry for the state craft beer awards. An award would be great for business and it’s an achievement for the guys, validation that they’re doing something right.
Validation’s important when you’re running a team. I want to make my boys feel like they’re achieving something.
They’re all ex-military, and half of them broken. Not all the boys came out tonight; Lone Star can’t stand to be around most people, Spec’s PTSD can be triggered by loud noises, and Davis still has a hang up about his hearing aids.
I’m thinking about Davis, the young prospect, as I slowly sip my beer. I should have pushed him more, insisted he come out. It would have done him good to be around a young crowd.
He gave some lame excuse about not wanting to leave his new puppy alone, but we all knew it’s because of his loss of hearing. It would have done him good to talk to a pretty girl tonight, give him some confidence. My men are hooking up like we’re running a dating agency. There must be a woman for him somewhere.
I’m lost in my thoughts, but I notice the change in the air when she walks in. My head jerks up towards the door, and my breath catches in my chest.
The woman pauses on the threshold of the club, and her thick dark hair, artfully curled, bounces over her exposed shoulders. She’s tall like her father and made more so by the six inch heels she’s wearing that make her legs look longer. Her red dress ends above the knee, and there’s a hint of thick thighs and delicious promises.
My hungry gaze scans her body, taking in every curve. The way the dress cinches in at the waist and the tight bodice pushesher oversized breasts against the fabric, forcing a pillowing cleavage that makes my throat dry.
Her face has a thick coat of makeup covering her already flawless skin. But it’s her eyes that have me spellbound. Emerald green. They scan the room taking everything in, intelligent and with a wariness much older than her years.
The music slows as she walks in. That’s what it feels like, but maybe it’s just me as my heartbeat speeds up and my pulse quickens. Blood thunders through my ears so loudly I can’t hear anything.
The air shifts. It parts for her as she struts into the club. Strut is the only word for how she walks. Her delicate beaded purse hangs off her bent elbow, and the two friends she’s with totter on their heels to catch up.
Quentin turns to see what I’m staring at, and his mouth drops open.
“Is that…?”
“Isabella Berone.” Her name rumbles out of my chest like a growl. The mafia princess whose father has a deadly reputation.
I haven’t seen her since she was an adolescent playing at the lake. Her father keeps her tightly guarded, and I can see why.
My dick’s hard as stone, and my heart’s pounding. I glance around the club, and every other hot blooded man is staring at her. My fists clench under the table, and I’m overcome with an urge to break the heads of every single one of them.
What the hell she’s doing out without a security detail I have no idea, but not a single man in here is going to get near her tonight.
“Get the guys,” I growl without taking my eyes off Isabella.
She shouldn’t be here. She can’t be more than eighteen. I’m damn sure her father doesn’t know where she is, and it won’t go well for any hot headed man who tries to touch her.
But it’s not because of her father that I call my guys together. Isabella may only be eighteen, but I’ll make damn sure no one gets near her. No one but me.
2
ISABELLA
The club is packed, and people are staring at me. So much for going incognito. It’s my first time in a night club, and I thought everyone would be more dressed up. I can see why my little red dress and killer heels might be a bit much.
I chose White Out at The Emerald Heart Resort because it’s full of tourists, so hopefully no one knows who I am and can report back to my father.
Still, I wish I’d worn something a bit more inconspicuous, even if I do look cute in this red dress.
But it’s too late now.
I do what my aunt taught me to do when you’re feeling unsure. I square my shoulders, stick my chin out, and flounce to the bar as if I own the place.
The bartender has his finger pressed to his headset when I arrive at the bar, which is good because it gives me time to figure out what the hell to order.
